Morning came without warmth.
Grey light seeped through the narrow slit windows of the prince's chamber, illuminating dust motes that drifted lazily through the cold air. The palace carved into the Dragonspine Mountains never truly felt alive unless dragonfire burned in its halls—and for the Third Prince, it never had.
He lay awake.
Not asleep. Not resting.
Thinking.
This body really is terrible.
Even after several hours, his limbs felt heavy, as though gravity itself pressed harder on him than on others. Simply clenching his fist sent a dull ache through his arm. His breathing was shallow, uneven.
Mana circulation—what little existed—was chaotic.
In this world, blood decided everything.
The Valerius royal family ruled because of Dragonblood, a lineage said to descend from the First Dragon Emperor. Children born with dense dragon blood could command flames, dominate beasts, and stand above ordinary humans.
Those without it were… failures.
Like him.
The door creaked open softly.
The same servant from last night entered, carrying a bowl of steaming medicinal soup. Her steps were careful, as if afraid the stone floor itself might offend him.
"Your Highness," she said gently, "the physicians insist you drink this."
He nodded faintly.
She approached, helping him sit up. The moment his feet touched the floor, his legs trembled.
Her hands tightened instinctively.
"Please don't force yourself," she whispered. "You collapsed once already."
He accepted the bowl, sipping slowly.
The taste was bitter. Strong. Expensive.
So I'm not entirely abandoned yet.
As he drank, his mind sifted through inherited memories—organizing them, testing them against logic.
Dragonblood wasn't simply power.
It was compatibility.
Royal children were measured by how well their blood resonated with dragon essence. High resonance meant overwhelming talent. Low resonance meant rejection.
And rejection meant death.
Officially, through "accidents" or "illness."
Unofficially, through poison or quiet blades.
His resonance result during the ceremony was almost zero.
A humiliation so severe that even the court nobles had laughed openly.
The servant hesitated before speaking again. "Your Highness… the ceremony has already been reported. Some of the princes are… displeased."
Some?
No.
All of them.
He knew their faces now.
The First Prince: a genius, beloved by dragons.
The Second Prince: cruel, ambitious, and dangerously clever.
The Third Prince: weak, sickly, and irrelevant.
Me.
The soup warmed his stomach.
And with it, something else stirred.
Faint.
Almost imperceptible.
A thread of heat.
His brows furrowed.
Was there always… something like this?
He closed his eyes, focusing inward.
In his previous life, he had no mana, no magic—but he understood systems. Flow. Efficiency.
What he found surprised him.
Deep within his chest was something twisted.
Not absent.
Sealed.
A knot of black-gold warmth wrapped in layers of suppression, like chains forged from dragon runes.
His breath hitched.
This isn't weak blood.
It was locked blood.
A memory surfaced—blurred, emotional.
A woman.
Silver hair.
Golden dragon eyes filled with pain.
A whisper against a newborn's ear.
"Live… even if they must never know."
His eyes snapped open.
The bowl clattered as his fingers tightened.
So that's it.
This body wasn't born a failure.
It was made into one.
Someone—someone powerful—had sealed his dragonblood at birth.
To protect him.
Or to hide him.
Or to condemn him.
Footsteps echoed outside the chamber.
Voices.
Noble.
Arrogant.
The servant stiffened. "Your Highness… the Second Prince's attendant is approaching."
He exhaled slowly.
So the vultures are already here.
Good.
If his blood was sealed, then it could be unsealed.
If his power was suppressed, then it could be reclaimed.
And if this palace thought him harmless—
That was their greatest mistake.
He lifted his gaze, eyes steady, calm, dangerous.
"Help me stand," he said quietly.
The servant froze.
"…Your Highness?"
"I won't be lying down when they come to judge me."
For the first time since his rebirth, his reflection in the bronze mirror didn't look like a dying boy.
It looked like a prince.
And deep beneath his skin, something ancient stirred.
A dragon that had been asleep for far too long.